


Thanking My Lucky Stars That I’ve Found You

by Byrcca



Series: Little Trip to Heaven [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e20 Author Author, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: He lay there and tried not to hate John Torres. From what little B’Elanna had said of him, he’d imagined a large, stone-faced monster. But John Torres was small. Not in stature, in personality. He was small, and quiet, and inconsequential. Faded. It didn’t seem possible that that nothing of a man had done so much damage to the woman Tom loved.What was Tom thinking during that awkward conversation between B’Elanna and her father in Author Author, and how did it impact B’Elanna?





	Thanking My Lucky Stars That I’ve Found You

***

She hadn’t had to ask him, he’d offered. Willingly. Halfway figuring it would be the only way to get her there. When push came to shove, sometimes she charged head first into battle, sometimes she was a runner. He wasn’t going to let her retreat this time. They’d wasted an agonizing twenty seconds just staring at each other, and Tom had flashed a look at Seven who had nodded just slightly. The link was working, it was the family that was broken. He used the time to compare them, picking out the features they shared, wondering just what, aside from the forehead, she got from her mother. Their eyes were the same— _our daughter has daddy’s eyes, too_ —and the cheekbones, and her jawline was a softer form of her father’s. You could see the resemblance. It was unmistakable. 

“B’Elanna,” he finally said. His voice sounded choked. 

“Dad.” She sounded young, lost, and Tom felt it in his gut. He slipped his hand from her shoulder to her waist and pulled her a little snugger against his side. 

“You’re married,” John Torres offered as an opener. Not bad, the cynical side of Tom thought. Obvious. Neutral. He could imagine his own father using that gambit. 

“Yes.” She nodded. She brought up her left hand, patted Tom’s chest. “This is Tom, my husband.” 

John’s eyes shifted to him and he nodded. “Admiral Paris’ son. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too, sir,” Tom responded automatically. Whether or not his statement was true remained to be seen. 

“I’ve spoken with your father. I've met quite a few of the families.”

“Oh,” B’Elanna said. “That’s good.” Tom didn’t comment. 

“He’s very proud of you, Tom,” John continued. “We were all so relieved…”

 _Stop talking to me_ , Tom wanted to shout. _Talk to her. Apologize to her._ He felt a wave of unreasonable anger toward this man. He’d tried to be generous in his imaginings, tried not to judge. He’d meant it when he’d told B’Elanna that he was probably overwhelmed, at the tipping point, so unhappy in his marriage that he didn’t see another way out but to leave it. That he’d likely been unhappy for years. Tom tried not to think of the damage her father had done to B’Elanna as being deliberately inflicted, but how could he not have known? How could any parent not know that abandoning their child would cause lasting psychological scars?

They lapsed into silence again and Tom shifted. “How’s Uncle Carl? The cousins?” B’Elanna was rallying.

“Fine,” he said, “they’re all fine. Dean’s getting married next month. And Elizabeth has a baby. A little boy.”

“I know. She wrote to me.” B’Elanna dropped her hand from Tom’s chest to her own belly and rested it there on her obvious bump.

And Tom wondered at that: was it obvious? Did John Torres know about the baby? He might not. She might not have told any of them, considering the upheaval the surprise pregnancy had wrought on their own marriage. Considering the trauma her old memories had caused her. But didn’t he see? Then again, they were both in their uniforms standing closely together, black fabric blending, facing the view screen head on. Maybe he couldn’t tell. 

Tom brought up his hand and placed it atop hers, his longer fingers brushing her belly. When she glanced at him, he raised an eyebrow. She nodded slightly, stepped back and away, turning slightly. “Surprise.” 

John’s expression softened. He did indeed look surprised. "Look at you,” he said. Tom caught the note of wonder in his voice. He knew the feeling. "You must be, what, twenty weeks along?"

"Twenty-three actually,” B’Elanna corrected. They spoke a little about the baby, her childhood home, her mother. Then Seven interrupted them. 

"Lieutenant..." They looked over at her, and Tom wondered for a second what she thought of all this, all the reunions, all the conversations she’d overheard. The tears and laughter. All that emotion. Was it only the calls to their families that were destined to be stilted and awkward?

Seven’s posture was ramrod straight, her expression neutral, her tone cool. “Thirty seconds."

"We have less than a minute. Is there a reason you wanted to talk?" B’Elanna was addressing her father. 

_Say it now,_ Tom urged.

"I know I can't make up for 20 years in one conversation. The truth is...When your ship disappeared I thought I'd lost you. I don't expect you to forgive me but maybe we could try to get to know each other again."

He looked pained, remorseful. _Good,_ Tom thought, _he should be._

"I'll write you." And the link closed.

They turned and Tom took her hand, tugging her out the door. Her steps were slow, and he slipped his arm around her. Her head was down, her shoulders shaking, and he stopped walking and pulled her into a hug. 

“I’m okay,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Love, you’re crying.” 

“No, I’m not.” He smiled at that and squeezed her. Her tears were soaking into his shoulder. 

After they’d married, he’d felt confident in giving her a pet name. She’d been swayed by sweetheart ( _He’s the brains, sweetheart!_ ) but ultimately refused. Baby was out of the question ( _I’m nobody’s baby_ ). He’d tried darling (too cheesy), dear (‘ _yes, dear’_ too condescending), honey ( _I’m not sticky or sweet, Tom)_ , before he’d settled on lovvie. It was what his grandfather Paris had called Tom’s grandmother, and Tom was seven before he’d clued in that it wasn’t her real name. Of course, _that_ hadn’t flown with B’Elanna either, but she’d accepted the shortened form, love. Grudgingly. And never in public. 

She’d countered with flyboy, because she could never be one-upped. Far better than helmboy. But he’d have accepted targ dung if she said it in that teasing voice he loved. The voice that said he was hers. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, and he meant it with all his heart. He pulled her closer, rested his chin on her hair. Her belly pushed on his diaphragm, forcing the air from his lungs. “He loves you,” Tom assured her. Lang walked past and smiled at him, and he sent her a little smile back. 

B’Elanna looked up at him then, eyes bloodshot, eyelashes wet and spiky, nose pink. Her mouth wobbled as she tried to reign in her tears. “Do you think so?” 

“I know so. How could he not?”

“I thought he didn’t care.”

A fierce, protective love washed over Tom, a feeling he secretly thought of as his own _Klingon side,_ and he wanted to knock down mountains for her! He wanted to rage and shout and slay dragons for her. He refrained. Instead, he smoothed her hair with his palm, cupped the back of her head. He hugged her tighter. “Of course he cares,” he said. “He wrote to you, remember?” 

She’d smiled, and sniffled, and they’d walked back to their quarters where he made them a light meal. He loved cooking for her, having dinner ready when she came home, often late, after shift. With the efficiencies to the replicator systems they’d picked up from one of their allies in the Void a few weeks back, combined with B’Elanna’s extra rations because of the pregnancy, he could experiment, and he’d finally convinced the replicator to produce tomato soup that approached palatable. It’d only taken seven years. 

They’d talked and she’d cried again, and they’d hugged again, then they’d talked some more. He’d talked her into sharing a warm water shower, another thing he loved about being married, and he’d soaped her back, massaging away some of her tension, then they’d climbed into bed early but exhausted. She’d fallen asleep quickly but an hour on he was still awake. They were snuggled together, spooned ( _You know, B’Elanna, like spoons in a drawer_ ) her back against his chest. His arm was draped over her hip, his palm cupping her belly. He lay there and tried not to hate John Torres. From what little B’Elanna had said of him, years ago in those Vidiian mines, and four months ago in sickbay, he’d imagined a large, stone-faced monster. But John Torres was small. Not in stature—he couldn’t tell the man’s height from the vid link—but in personality. He was small, and quiet, and inconsequential. Faded. It didn’t seem possible that that _nothing_ of a man had done so much damage to the woman Tom loved. 

Had he really found living with his Klingon wife and daughter so impossible? So intolerable? Why the hell had he married her, then? It’s not as if Klingon women were coquettish at the beginning of a relationship! Surely the marriage hadn’t been a surprise. Tom had had a lot of time to think about it, stuck on a ship in the Delta Quadrant with roughly only a hundred and fifty other people for entertainment. He’d been drawn to B’Elanna immediately, from the first time he’d seen her on Chakotay’s ship. To her exotic beauty, sure, but also to her brilliance, her guarded nature, her quickfire temper. Her spark. Not to mention those boots. And her ass in those suede pants. She’d had a chip on her shoulder the size of a Maquis raider, and she’d drawn her anger around herself like armour. And she’d blown him away. The way her eyes blazed when she was in a temper, or glowed with triumph when she coaxed a little more power from the ancient engines. He’d even heard her laugh occasionally, but never with him. 

He’d baited her because he couldn’t help himself, because if she wasn’t going to smile at him, he wanted her to at least scowl at him. And because he was Tom Paris, Admiral’s son, Starfleet washout, all around asshole. Because they’d both been too young and too disappointed to know better. He wondered again what the last seven years would have been like if they’d gotten together then. If he’d still been caught, if the Caretaker had whisked the _Val Jean_ away. She’d be here, but he’d be in the Alpha quadrant because, if they’d been together in the Maquis, there was no way he would have taken Janeway’s offer. No way he would have led her to B’Elanna. He’d have done his time, then gone after her. Jumped right back into the fight because, even though he hadn’t been there long, he'd already started to believe in it. 

He slowly lifted his hand from her belly and reached up to smooth her hair away from his nose. It was dry now, and curling, and he skimmed a loose ringlet, tugging it gently between his thumb and forefinger. She would straighten it in the morning, her preferred style, but he loved it natural. Klingon. Which was silly because lots of humans had curly hair! He’d talked her into trying it, letting the natural waves loose, and she’d not only agreed but kept up the style for the better part of a year, which surprised and delighted him at the time. But after she’d agreed to be assimilated by the Borg—what the fuck?!—she’d straightened it, even while confined to a biobed in sickbay, recuperating. He’d been worried that she’d somehow talked the doc into altering her DNA so it would grow in straight, and absurdly pleased the next time he saw it wavy and messy, dripping dry after he’d come home from a late shift in sickbay. 

She’d been assimilated by the Borg and he’d been fixated on her hair. Easier than thinking about the fact that she’d made the decision without him, hadn’t even consulted him, hadn’t considered his feelings. Shortly after they’d been married she’d asked him why he chose then, in the middle of that stupid, meaningless race, to propose. It was simple: she’d been slipping away from him, and he’d been pulling away from her because it hurt too much to think she didn’t want him anymore. And when she’d said she didn’t think they were ‘working’... it had been a knee jerk response. Not that he hadn’t thought about it for a long time, felt it in his heart. 

He shifted a little, careful not to lie on her hair (a rookie boyfriend mistake he’d made once). He’d meant what he’d said when he’d traded chips with Harry. He had no desire to talk to his parents, not even his sisters. They were his family, but more like third cousins, twice removed. Letters were fine with him because his real family was right here: B’Elanna, Harry, the captain, the rest of the crew. Maybe not Harron. He had his equations to keep him warm. He felt for Harry, but he, Tom, was home right here. 

B’Elanna sighed in her sleep and shifted against him, and he held her again, resting his palm on the low curve of her belly. He recognized how lucky he was: lucky that Janeway had chosen him, lucky that he hadn’t been such an asshole as to refuse her request, just to piss her off. It had crossed his mind. He’d had a parole hearing coming up, and figured he’d ace it: he was getting out anyway. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed numerous times over during the last six years and, most important of all, lucky that B’Elanna found something in him worth loving. 

Their baby shifted within her mother’s womb, rolling, stretching, and Tom was stunned by the wonder of it. He’d never been a religious man, not even a spiritual one, though B’Elanna’s sudden interest in the Klingon afterlife last year had sparked his own curiosity. He was slowly learning a few Klingon phrases, and studying Klingon history during quiet moments in sickbay. He felt his daughter kick his hand, and B’Elanna made a little groaning noise and rolled onto her back. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She smiled and glanced down at her swollen, pregnant belly. “Someone’s awake.” 

Tom pushed down the light blanket and pulled up her tee shirt, one of his old red ones that, she said lovingly, looked horrible on him but somehow looked fantastic on her. He watched their daughter do a backflip. It was cool, and freaky, and downright _science fiction_. He grinned. 

“It really doesn’t hurt?” he asked.

“Only when she shoves a foot under my ribs.” She placed her hand over his on her belly, and he leaned over and kissed her. 

“B’Elanna, you know I’ll never leave you, right? You believed me, didn’t you?”

She stared at him. “I believe that you meant it.” 

Tom sighed and closed his eyes. “By the time we’re old and gray, you’ll be looking for a way to scrape me off. You’ll have to erect your own personal force field to keep me away.”

She snorted a laugh. “Now you’re sounding a little creepy.” She sobered. “I think my father meant it, too, when he married my mother. But…”

“I’m not your father.”

“I know.” She brought her hand to his face and caressed his cheek. He kissed her palm. “Do you think he regrets leaving?” Her voice was soft, hesitant. 

“I think he regrets the time he lost with you. Twenty years, how could he not?”

“I hope he does,” she said. 

He leaned over her, catching her gaze. “You don’t have to prove anything to him, B’Elanna. You’re worthy of his love; you always have been.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t know me then. I was a real pain in the ass.”

“Hey, you’re talking to a charter member of the pain in the ass club,” he grinned.

“No, I’d bet you were an easy kid. Another Harry Kim.”

Truthfully, he had been, for the most part. It hadn’t occurred to him not do what he was told, what was expected, until his second year at the Academy. Marseilles. It was eye-opening. “You were a little kid,” he said. “Kids are supposed to push the boundaries. It’s part of growing up. Parents are supposed to let them.”

B’Elanna cupped her belly. “So you think she’ll push her boundaries, huh?”

Tom grinned as a foot? a knee? poked against B’Elanna’s lower belly and arced toward her navel. “She’s pushing against her boundaries right now!” His eyes sparkled with his joke. “I hope she’s curious, and adventurous, and not satisfied with a boring, comfortable life. I hope she’s a real _pain the ass,”_ he grinned. “And whatever she decides she wants to do, whatever she decides she wants to be, we’ll support her.”

“And we’ll love her,” B’Elanna added fiercely.

“And we’ll love her.” Tom agreed. 

She rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling closer to him, and he pulled her tighter against his chest. She raised a hand to his ribs and hugged him. “Tom?” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” he answered. He closed his eyes and sighed into her hair.

“I have to pee.”

Tom smiled and kissed her blindly on the side of the head. His eyes were still closed. He released her with a sigh, and she rolled onto her front and pushed herself up. 

In a few minutes, B’Elanna came back to bed and hefted herself onto the mattress and under the covers. It wasn’t quite as simple an operation as it had been two months ago. Tom idly wondered if she’d need a hoist in another two months. He reached for her and she cuddled close, wrapping her legs around him and putting her freezing feet on his calves. “Gahh!” Tom gasped. “In the morning, I’m replicating you some bed socks.”

“How sexy,” B’Elanna said with a yawn. 

Tom ran his hand from the small of her back, over her hip, her belly, to a full, round breast, and B’Elanna sighed in contentment. He released her breast and cupped her jaw. “You have no idea,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “I like you fecund.” 

His eyes twinkled at her and she snorted a laugh. “Lush,” he said, stealing another kiss. “Fruitful.” 

She laughed. “Fruitful, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” His hand was back on her breast and he was kissing a trail down her throat from under her ear to her collarbone. She gasped, and he smiled.

“Do you think Neelix has any more Antarian plums?”

Tom stilled. “What?”

“It’s just, I’m a little hungry and they’re so good.” Her expression was pleading, and her voice had taken on that cajoling tone that promised reward for favours received. 

Tom smiled and dropped a chaste kiss on her shoulder. “Sure,” he said. “Let me go see.” But as he started to move away she laughed and grabbed him. 

“I was kidding. Get back here.”

He cuddled close and kissed her again, and then she proceeded to show him just how much she liked him.


End file.
